Free Words in the Dust by Trent Reedy Page B

patted her back. “Just like we always dreamed about.”
    Zeynab stared straight ahead and nodded, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She looked beautiful with hermakeup and the ribbons, but I could tell she felt nervous. “Anyway, at least we don’t have to cook for the men tonight,” I said.
    “Or watch the boys. There’s enough to worry about without having to look after them all night.”
    I shook my head. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
    “What if the party doesn’t go well? I mean the Abdullahs are a big, rich family and we’re just … Well, our family isn’t as large. They won’t even all be here tonight.”
    “That’s fine for me,” I said. Given the short notice, Baba’s brother’s family couldn’t travel from Kabul in time for the shirnee-khoree. Uncle Ramin had stayed in the capital when Baba fled the fighting there just before I was born. He and his wife Halima and their daughter Khatira had visited only twice that I remembered, once shortly after Khalid was born and then again for Habib’s birth. Each time Baba and Uncle Ramin had ended up shouting at each other over old arguments and new disagreements. Uncle had sent word through Hajji Abdullah’s satellite phone that they would arrive in An Daral the night before the wedding. “I hate the way they always talk about how much better their precious, modern city life is in Kabul. Then Khatira always stares at my mouth and talks to me like I have some sort of deadly disease.”
    Zeynab laughed briefly. “What if the Abdullah family doesn’t like me?”
    I ran my hand down her arm, smoothing her beautiful dress. “How could anyone not like you?”
    “Farida and Tayereh —”
    “Malehkah’s family doesn’t like anyone. How do you think she became so mean?”
    Zeynab laughed again. It was wonderful to see her smile.
    Malehkah came out of the sitting room where she had been talking with her mother and sister. “It’s time to go inside now.”
    Zeynab and I stood and started for the sitting room, but Malehkah reached out her hand to stop us. “You both know that tonight’s shirnee-khoree is a celebration of Zeynab’s engagement to Tahir. More importantly, this is our chance to show her future family that she comes from the right background. Whatever you do tonight will say something about your father, so be sure that what you do says something good. Zulaikha, you will help me serve the food. You will speak only when spoken to, and then you will say as little as possible.” She turned to Zeynab. “You must not appear too sad, or else they will think you do not wish to join their family. Also, you must not seem too happy or you’ll look like you are ungrateful and hate us. There will be singing and dancing later, but neither of you will join in.” As usual, Zeynab and I just nodded and agreed with our father’s wife. “Finally …” But then we heard giggling happy voices outside and a heavy knock on the compound door. Malehkah sighed, straightened her dress, and said, “Let’s get this thing over with.”
    My sister nodded and started to lick her lips before she remembered the heavy red lipstick. She breathed deep and letit out before nodding again to Malehkah, who led us across the courtyard to the sitting room. While Zeynab settled onto the special couch Hajji Abdullah had lent us for the occasion, I went through the room and into the small walled-in hallway that shielded the rest of our compound from the eyes of guests who visited by this door.
    Someone rapped on the door again and a woman’s voice called, “Salaaaaaaaaam.”
    I took a moment to smooth down my hair and dress before unlocking the door and swinging it open. In rushed about a dozen chadri-covered women, all giggling and chatting at once. None of them even seemed to notice me. They went directly into the sitting room where there were more bursts of high-pitched enthusiastic greetings. I closed and bolted the street door.
    “Zulaikha!” Malehkah’s